


emissions testing

by systemscheck



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Consent Issues, Other, Praise Kink, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:13:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25891129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/systemscheck/pseuds/systemscheck
Summary: Prowl remembers ‘Array Inspection Day’.(Features an authority figure dirtier than a Volkswagen and fifty times as sexy.)
Relationships: Prowl/OC, background Jazz/Prowl
Comments: 9
Kudos: 61





	emissions testing

“Hold on,” said Prowl, between kisses, “I have a proposal.” 

“A what now?” Jazz was far too preoccupied with trying to get at his hip cabling. He was charged, Prowl was charged, and usually this kind of situation was resolved very quickly. Prowl’s doorwings clacked loudly against the wall, and at this point Jazz would have expected more interesting parts to be revealed, but for some reason Prowl was pushing away at his lover. 

Prowl glanced away from Jazz’s glowing visor, slightly nervous. It was Jazz’s idea to introduce roleplay into their bedroom, although until now Prowl had yet to construct a scene of his own. He’d been sketching out the details for a few weeks in a personal datapad, one that he specially bought for this purpose. Without too much metalworking Prowl had managed to make it look identical to the pads he usually brought home from work, save for three discreet notches to make sure no unfortunate mix-ups occured. This subterfuge allowed Prowl to type away without alerting anyone to his private perversions. 

Fantasies were, by their very nature, transgressive. As Jazz explained, setting up a scene provided a controlled outlet for strange, unrealistic or just plain taboo desires. Prowl knew there wasn’t anything embarrassing about wanting to explore and indeed, compared to the stuff they’d been acting out on Jazz’s suggestion, what Prowl wanted to try was positively pedestrian. He merely wished Jazz would impersonate a factory supervisor, and caste play could hardly appal somebody who’d asked Prowl to pretend he was a sundial. 

Before Jazz, Prowl hadn’t even considered the idea that he could return to that sense of comfort again. The sensory recall of this particular experience was something he accessed quite frequently when lying on his berth, lazily palming at his spike. The mere thought of being able to recreate it sent a hot wash all throughout his circuitry. 

There weren’t many memory files he cared to retain from those early days at the manufacturing plant. A place where the newly-online would be put through their paces prior to receiving assignments, it was a haze of fresh, itchy welds and boring training sims. Prowl recalled how he’d finished the logic puzzles faster than everyone else in his batch and lacking further instruction, hacked the computer terminal to build some problems of his own. 

When the main factory supervisor called Prowl to his office, he’d immediately started apologising. 

The mech held up one hand. Prowl fell silent, looking down at the polished surface of the desk. 

“What is your name?”

“997-E, sir,” answered Prowl, furious at himself. He should have wiped the terminal. Better yet, he shouldn’t have gotten creative in the first place. 

The supervisor clicked his tongue. 

“That’s your designation. I’m asking for what your batchmates call you, or how you refer to yourself.”

“...Prowl.” 

“Prowl,” repeated the supervisor, approvingly. “Prowl, sorry if my summons scared you. I’m actually quite impressed by your performance so far. You’re shaping up to be one of the finest mechanisms who’ve rolled off the line here.”

Prowl’s doorwings dipped in surprise. 

“Thank you,” he finally said. “However, I daresay the programmers of my code should take credit instead.”

The supervisor waved his hand indulgently. 

“Ah, modest too. I foresee a bright future ahead of you.” 

Prowl resisted the urge to fidget, or shuffle his feet. The unexpected praise and attention was making him feel warm inside. When he checked, though, his internal telemetry didn’t register any temperature change. It was very confusing. 

“With all due respect, sir, I’m only a newbuild.” 

Behind the desk, the supervisor uncrossed his legs. 

“Yes, yes. How are you feeling, Prowl? Is everything working fine—any stiffness in your joints, or software crashes?”

“I’m operating within standard parameters, sir,” said Prowl, wondering why the head supervisor was bothering to ask. Like everyone else constructed here, his records could be pulled up remotely on any company terminal.

The supervisor smiled. His magenta optics were a startling splotch of colour after days of being surrounded by other monochrome frames, and Prowl had difficulty meeting them. 

“What about your array?”

Prowl had spoken too soon. His audio pickup was malfunctioning. 

“Come again,” ventured Prowl. 

“Don’t be shy, I’m your supervisor. I’m supposed to know everything there is to know about your chassis. Tell me about your array.” 

The supervisor was still smiling. Prowl didn’t want that to change, so he quickly said, “We were told to refrain from disturbing the seals. I, I haven’t tried to open my panel yet.” 

“I see,” said the supervisor. “That’s very smart of you, Prowl. Those are very delicate components, and it’s easy to damage them in careless excitement.”

Prowl lifted his chin, proud.

“I’ve pared off the casting seams on countless newbuilds, and it never fails to warm my spark to watch bots walk off the line. Let’s have a toast, shall we.”

The supervisor told him to fetch a bottle from the rack. Confronted by a dizzyingly large selection, none of which looked like the fuel he’d been living on so far, Prowl spent a few nerve-wracking moments staring at the mysterious labels before grabbing one at random. 

“Don’t gulp everything at once,” the supervisor muttered, pouring amber liquid into a square-bottomed glass. He showed Prowl how to clink their drinks together, and Prowl copied how he let the engex sit in his mouth for a while. 

It burned. Prowl ended up choking it down, his optics shuttered as the liquid raced through his intake like acid. 

The supervisor chortled and clapped him on the back. 

“Kaonian rum gets better on your second try,” he said, and Prowl held out his cube to be refilled. 

A couple tries later, Prowl still didn’t get the appeal. He didn’t know if he could turn down such generosity, however, and the bottle quickly emptied. 

“Here, have another one,” said the supervisor, and Prowl was summoning up the courage to reject him when his own body beat him to it, purging messily all over the floor. Prowl doubled up, heaving. The physical relief was quickly cancelled out by horror that he’d been so rude. Prowl staggered backwards, mortified, and sat down heavily.

“I—I’m so sorry, sir,” he gasped. 

The supervisor came over and helped him up, heedless of the disgusting half-processed fuel that had splashed onto Prowl’s bumper. 

“No, it’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have gotten so carried away.” He pressed a button for the cleaning drones and helped Prowl to the washracks. 

The solvent washed away the mess, but nothing could have gotten rid of his shame.

“You’re too nice to me,” said Prowl, feebly, as the other mech rubbed a soft microfibre cloth over his frame.

“Hush, now. It’s my job to take care of you.” 

Prowl’s plating was once more clean and dry. Nevertheless, the supervisor’s palm stayed right there, curled around the curve of Prowl’s headlight.

“Sir?” 

His hand was so warm. 

“Ah, I almost forgot the next step,” the supervisor said, shaking his head. “It’s a little more intimate than the tests your batch has already been subjected to, but I’m sure you’ll pass just fine.”

“What do you mean,” asked Prowl, feeling off-balance for the second time that day. 

“I need to inspect your array,” said the supervisor. “Haven’t you heard about this? Don’t worry, it doesn’t take long.”

Prowl nodded. In fact, he’d read through the entire orientation data packet three times over, and didn’t recall anything about an array inspection personally conducted by the staff. Still, Prowl wasn’t the one in charge. It wasn’t his place to decide what procedures were to be carried out. 

“Open your panel,” the supervisor prompted. 

The brush of cool air over sensitive components made Prowl shiver, doorwings rattling. 

The supervisor’s optics glowed brighter. He took out a tape measure and said, “Pressurise.” 

“You don’t mean my tyres, do you,” said Prowl, awkwardly. He had no idea what to do. 

“Oh, Prowl,” said the supervisor, sounding ever so kind. “Let me show you.” He pressed his thumb to one of the small slits on Prowl’s exposed array. Startled, Prowl jerked away. 

“Relax,” the mech said, exerting more pressure, and to Prowl’s shock this was starting to feel good. He had no words for what was happening to him, only that he wanted more. Prowl wriggled a little, letting the supervisor’s smooth plating brush against more of his array. 

“Easy does it,” whispered the supervisor, seemingly to himself. Prowl bit his lip. There was an odd, intense sensation rumbling inside his pelvic span, which only got worse as those fingers pushed and probed at his protoform. 

“Sir!” All of a sudden, a smooth red length had extended out of his array and into the supervisor’s waiting grip. Prowl was taken aback by the arrival of this new, mysterious component, but the supervisor looked very pleased. It was made up of several interlocking segments, none of which seemed to be under his conscious control. Prowl found this very frightening. All this part appeared to do was beam pure pleasure directly to his brain, which didn’t seem very useful. 

Sensing Prowl’s discomfort, the supervisor eased up on the pressure and began explaining what was happening as he worked. Prowl learnt that this strange bit of metal was marked on his schematics as a ‘connector’, intended to physically facilitate social interactions when for some reason mere words couldn’t do. The supervisor didn’t care to elaborate. 

With one last, soft stroke, the supervisor released him. Prowl couldn’t help the cry that escaped his vocaliser. 

The purpose of the measuring tape finally came to light as the supervisor busied himself with discovering the dimensions of Prowl’s connector. The edge of the tape measure grazed the tip of his connector, and the metal there was so sensitive this nearly hurt. Prowl barely managed to keep still.

Hearing his engine turn over, the supervisor sighed. 

“That’s the sound of great fuel efficiency,” he said, affectionate. “You’re a solid masterpiece, Prowl.” 

The next part of this performance review was more practical in nature. 

“Turn around and bend at the waist. Yes, that’s low enough. Brace your palms on the wall.” 

Prowl complied with the ready obedience of someone with a freshly initalised service module. It was difficult to ignore the sensation between his legs, however, which only worsened when the supervisor touched his array again. This time, Prowl felt blunt fingers press against another place. He gasped. 

“Doing fine?” The supervisor’s vents gusted warm over the back of his neck. 

Not trusting his voice to work, Prowl nodded. 

“I’m going to try probing the valve channel now, Prowl. It can feel a little uncomfortable, but I know you’re a strong bot.” 

Prowl’s fingers dug into the wall. He reminded himself to stay strong, resisting the urge to flinch as the supervisor’s digits quested deeper. 

Following instructions to stay still was becoming increasingly difficult. Prowl could feel liquid start to trickle down his legs, but according to his internal diagnostics unit there was nothing wrong. He wasn’t losing fuel pressure or leaking hydraulic fluid. Besides, the supervisor would stop if anything bad happened. 

The supervisor’s index finger grazed something inside Prowl and he automatically cried out, hips bucking. 

“Sorry!” Prowl immediately said, wincing and hoping he wasn’t in trouble. 

“Heh,” the supervisor said. “I won’t penalise you for making noise. Just don’t be too loud, alright?” 

Prowl nodded and relaxed. Now that he didn’t have to concentrate so hard on staying quiet, his focus naturally turned to the interesting mechanics the supervisor was testing. Prowl’s valve contracted as sensor clusters were methodically located and prodded, and more lubricant spilled onto the floor. 

“You’re so wet,” the supervisor said approvingly. A surge of happiness overwhelmed Prowl so strongly that he wasn’t even that scared when he felt something far bigger than some fingers nudged at his valve. 

“What’s that?” 

“Didn’t I tell you? This is the final stage. I’m sure you’re ready for my connector now.” 

Prowl tensed when he felt the heavy connector graze against the rim of his valve. It felt much broader than the fingers his valve had accepted earlier, and capable of damaging something. 

“I’ll be very careful, I promise. And don’t you want to ace this inspection?” 

“Yes,” Prowl said. “I would like to very much.” 

“You’re being so good, Prowl,” the supervisor said, and it was so nice hearing his name spoken with such warmth. The other factory staff never interacted with cold constructs if they could help it, and hearing your designation shouted usually meant something bad anyway. 

“You’re too kind to me, sir,” Prowl whispered. 

“Hush, now. I merely take pride in my work.” 

Holding onto Prowl’s boxy hips, the supervisor eased his connector in. Prowl breathed shallowly and tried to calm his racing spark. By slow and painful degrees, his valve stretched to accommodate this intrusion; Prowl came very close to the edge of pleading for this to stop but the supervisor’s words burned in his mind. He could do this. 

Eventually, the burning sensation in his mesh came to a peak. Prowl clenched his hands into fists. The supervisor brushed the edge of Prowl’s optic, wiping away the washer fluid that had collected there. 

“Sweetspark, am I hurting you?” 

“I’m fine,” Prowl insisted. 

It became true in a few minutes. Once the supervisor had ensured Prowl’s valve could fit his spike, he started running another protocol to ascertain functionality. This one involved thrusting repeatedly until Prowl’s vision blurred, servos straining to support his trembling frame as wave after wave of stimulation crashed into him. Prowl’s own connector was extremely pressurised now, gliding messily against the wall and smearing it with fluid while the supervisor growled lowly behind him. 

“I, I—” Prowl had no idea what he was going to say, only a vague and fuzzy notion that he had to warn the supervisor. Something seriously odd was happening to his frame. Too busy doing whatever it was, the supervisor ignored him. 

Prowl’s palms were leaving streaks of paint on the tiled walls. He was wailing freely now, unable to control his vocaliser when his valve was filled to bursting and still being pounded like cement. 

The end of the evaluation was marked by a deluge of warmth that invaded Prowl’s valve. Disengaging, the supervisor backed away and told him to turn around. 

“How’re you feeling,” the supervisor asked, smiling. 

Prowl’s fans were still whirring at max speed. He held up a hand, willing the supervisor to be patient. 

“You did a great job,” the supervisor said. His array was already all closed up again, while Prowl’s valve remained empty and gaping. 

“I’m a little sore,” Prowl admitted, panting as the supervisor parted his valve again. The roughed surface of his thumb nuzzled Prowl’s slick valve with a seasoned motion, and before Prowl knew what was happening the overload was hitting him with all the force of a freight train, forcing Prowl to grab onto the supervisor’s shoulder for support. 

The tile was cracked where Prowl’s bumper had slammed into it. Catching sight of Prowl’s worried glance, the supervisor cracked a wide smile. 

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll get someone to fix that later.” 

After the supervisor sent him away with a comforting pat on the back, Prowl kept hoping to be summoned again. He knew that this wish didn’t make sense since he’d already passed muster, but for a few days afterwards Prowl’s circuits were all tingly and sometimes transmitted phantom flashes of sensory input. It was mildly annoying, but didn’t impede his functioning in any way. Prowl was grateful for that. Requesting a tune-up when he hadn’t even ventured outside would have been extremely embarrassing. Fortunately, the issue cleared up just before graduation. 

When Prowl finished detailing what he wanted, Jazz was staring open-mouthed at him. 

“Are you judging me,” Prowl asked testily. He should have known that a forged bot would never understand, far too preoccupied with confusion over how anyone could enjoy being treated like that. Still, Prowl had to admit his point of view was something of a rarity even among those who came off the shelf. 

Jazz scrubbed a hand across his face. 

“Prowler, I hate to break it to ya, but I don’t think everyone had an inspection like that.”


End file.
